


Killer Axe

by Shadsie



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Art, Baddass Battle Scene, Breaking the cycle of revenge, Costs of war, F/M, Gen, Healing the wounds of time, Libra's Orphanage, Life in an orphange, Orphanage, Orphans, Painting as healing, Post-Awakening, Risen, character with a disability, philosophical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8041660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadsie/pseuds/Shadsie
Summary: Many an unfortunate child found joy in the small orphanage that Libra founded after the war.  However, when one fights battles, one risks creating orphans.  The Border Hills Home (also known as Saint Robin's) was a caring place with an excellent reputation.  This was how a Plegian youth wound up there.  His father had died in battle long ago while his mother had fallen to sickness after years of raising him alone.  He did not think about the old wars very much as he was cared for by a kind Ylissean priest and his Plegian wife.  However, the past has a way of coming up to haunt the living in unexpected ways.





	Killer Axe

**Author's Note:**

> **Standard Disclaimer and Notes:** Fire Emblem: Awakening and associated characters belong to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. My original characters belong to me, though they are for this world. Apologies for this being original character-heavy, but they do serve a purpose. Libra x Robin.

**Killer Axe**

It was a wet autumn day when Shannon was led through the gates of the orphanage.  He regarded the rain-soaked leaves at his feet, many-colored amongst the slog.  He was numb.  He could smell the smoke from the main house’s chimney and knew that warmth was waiting for him inside.  He suspected that even the largest fireplace wouldn’t be able to chase away his chill. 

 

“First, we’ll get you nice and warm and get you a snack if you’d like one,” chirped the too-happy cleric at the boy’s side.  Her hair was pink and Shannon wondered if she had dyed it or if it was natural.  It was a rare color, but not one that he hadn’t seen before.  His own white scruff was uncommon.  Although white hair in youth was known among some Ylisseans and Valmese, it seemed to be more common in Plegia.  Shannon had a few other features that marked him as a Plegian and he wondered uncomfortably if he was going to be the only one here. 

 

He’d heard-tell that one of the headmasters here was of Plegian-decent and had a dual-citizenship in Ylisse.  She and the other headmaster had fought for Ylisse in the wars that had swept the continent for most of Shannon’s childhood.  He was eleven now, soon to be twelve.  He’d only needed a place to stay for a few years before he was of age to find work and strike out on his own.  He had no where else to go but the Border Hills Home, formerly (and among some people still) known as Saint Robin’s.  Supposedly, the place had been named for the headmistress while she had been “absent on a journey” and presumed dead.  It had been renamed upon her return from that journey, alive, at her ardent insistence. 

 

Shannon, for his part, remembered little about the wars.  He knew that his father had been a solider for Plegia, conscripted into Mad Gangrel’s army and had died in battle when he was five, leaving him to be raised by his mother until a just over a week ago.  The child did not know why she had requested a place in Ylisse to care for him – possibly because it was the closest orphanage to their home or possibly because it had an excellent reputation for being a clean and caring place.  All he knew was that Mother had signed some papers soon after she had gotten sick.  There was no saving her, the medic of their village had said.  She’d come down with one of those mysterious illnesses that neither mage nor cleric – or even dark mage – could yet figure out. 

 

“Go on now,” the assisting cleric whose name had escaped Shannon for the moment said as she took his luggage and motioned toward a couch in a large room that was situated by a roaring fire in a big stonework fireplace. 

 

There was one other person in the room, a boy that looked close to Shannon’s age.  The dark-haired lad was seated at a small desk, absorbed in something that he was writing, his pen swift and deliberate.  Shannon’s gaze fell and lingered on the boy’s right knee.  There was nothing below it. 

 

Shannon hadn’t had any contact with the outwardly disabled before.  In his part of Plegia, it was a common custom for the parents of defective children to leave them to desert and to see if they could survive.  If they did, they were strong. Otherwise, they would be a burden in the hard desert land that provided too little food to support too many of the weak.  He never knew if this was a widespread practice, but there were no deformed children in his village.  His mother told him that the State took most who were crippled to the temples to “be of service to Grima.”  What was talked about in terms of priesthood and convents was widely known among the commoners with any savvy to have a more sacrificial intent.  She had been very protective and worried often about him getting hurt.   

 

In other words, despite the kindness of his mother and what he remembered of his father, Shannon had grown up in a world where only the strong survived. 

 

The boy at the writing-desk looked up as the pink-haired cleric took Shannon’s luggage to the room he was to stay in. 

 

“Oh, hi!” the young writer said, waving his hand in a friendly manner.  “You must be the new kid.” 

 

“Hi, I guess,” Shannon said half-heartedly. 

 

“I’m Syl,” the boy replied.  “Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of things here quickly.  Has Father Libra talked with you yet? He’s really nice.” 

 

“N-no,” Shannon said shyly.  “My name is Shannon.  What happened to your leg?”

 

“Not exactly the best question to start out on, but…” Syl replied as he pivoted on his chair to face Shannon, “I’m used to it. My town was attacked by Risen when I was little.  One of the things had been a mage in life and got me with an Arcfire.  Burnt my lower leg clean to the bone. I don’t remember much about it but being in the worst pain of my life for a minute or two and then waking up with the dang thing cut off.  I was the only survivor of the raid, which is why I’m here.”

 

“You seem okay about it.”

 

“Oh, it was years ago and I barely remember it.  Let me show you somethin’ neat!”

 

Syl reached around to a place behind his chair to an object that Shannon hadn’t seen before.  The dark-hared boy took leather straps and affixed the wooden leg to himself.  It looked like a clever piece of puppetry, properly-shaped with simple joints in the right places.   
  
“Father Libra and Lady Miriel designed it for me.  I can’t exactly run a marathon, but it serves me.” 

 

“Miriel?” Shannon asked, “Is that one of the adults who works here?”

 

“She doesn’t work here,” Syl explained.  “She’s just a friend.  Oh, and Father Libra… some of the younger kids call him Mama. Just so you know. You’re older so you probably shouldn’t unless he knows you’re joking.”

 

“Mama?  Why?”

 

It was just then that a tall woman with long blond hair and the clothes of an Ylissean priest walked in and sat down next to Shannon on the couch. 

 

“Welcome” this stately lady said.  “You must be Shannon.  I am Friar Libra – or Father Libra – but you may call me simply Libra if you wish.  It is what I prefer.  We are not much for formalities here.” 

 

“Father?” Shannon asked, perplexed.  “But you’re… aren’t you a girl?” 

 

Libra laughed softly.  “No.  I get that often.  I know that I do not appear very masculine, but appearances can be deceiving.  I can show you around.  I assure you that you will be safe here.”

 

“Alright,” Shannon agreed, rising from his seat.  “I guess I ought to know the place if I am going to be living here.” 

 

Shannon walked stiffly behind the priest as he was shown the halls and the bedrooms – including the one that he was slated to share with Syl.  Syl did not join them, having contentedly gone back to writing the story he was working on.  Libra showed Shannon the dining hall, a classroom and a playroom.  They decided to remain inside due to the rain.  The outdoor yard could wait.  Shannon walked past happy children playing with each other and with adult volunteers.  A blond teenager was mesmerizing a small gaggle of kids in the playroom by showing them a tightly-controlled electric spell drawn from a tome. 

 

The new arrival saw one girl sitting in a corner apart from the others.  The teenager with the spellbook seemed to be trying to get her attention but all the girl did was look out into the hall, regarding Shannon with haunted eyes. 

 

Libra sighed.  “The girl in the corner is Clara,” he said.  “Approach her gently.  She’s had a very rough go of life so far.” 

 

“What’s she been through?” Shannon inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Syl told me that he survived a Risen-attack.” 

 

“She was rescued by some friends of mine,” Libra explained.  “Her parents beat her and abused her in all manner of ways.  She is starting to interact with the other children, but she is very shy.  Do not try to physically touch her unless she allows you to – no hugging; don’t even try to hold her hand. She will panic.  It does my heart glad that she is entertained by Morgan’s spells.” 

 

“Hmm,” Shannon contemplated.  “At least I didn’t have anything like that.”  He looked at Libra’s boots as the priest walked slowly ahead of him.  “I just don’t have any family left.  My father – he died a long time ago in the war.  I don’t know how to talk about that… He fought for Plegia.  How am I even welcome here?”

 

“All are welcome here,” Libra intoned.  “The wars are long over.  This place exists to serve the needs of any who come.” 

 

“I mean,” Shannon tripped over his words, “He was killed by some Ylissean soldier, but I kinda think it was more Mad King Gangrel that killed him.  Mother told me that he only fought because Gangrel would have had us killed or worse if he didn’t.”

 

Libra stopped in his tracks and looked contemplative for a moment.  “He died a hero, then, child,” he said.  “He was protecting you in the only way that he could.” 

 

“I suppose so,” Shannon answered.  “I don’t have many memories of him, but I know that he cared for me and Mom.  He taught me birdcalls and stuff.  He liked birds. He used to carry me on his shoulders so I could pretend he was a wyvern and I was a wyvern-rider.  And Mom… she… She just got sick, is all.  She had to work our land alone so we didn’t have money to go chasing cures all over the place.  I’ve been expecting to lose her for a while now, but it still hurts.”

 

“And it will for some time,” the priest said gently.  “Take all the time you need.  If you wish to pray, I can take you to our chapel.  There are regular group-prayer times.”

 

“I uh… I don’t know…”

 

“It does wonders to cleanse the soul,” Libra encouraged.  “There is, however, no coercion here.  You may opt out if you wish.”

 

“Well, not to get you mad or anything,” Shannon began, “but isn’t what you do Naga-stuff?  I’m Plegian.  My family were never true worshippers for Grima, we kind of just pretended when we needed to, but… are you sure you are okay with people like me here?”

 

Libra turned to him with a smirk that Shannon took to be ill-fitting for the formerly straight-faced priest.  “I married a Plegian,” he said.  “And here is she is now.”

 

A woman with hair as white as Shannon’s own came waddling down the hallway.  The boy perceived her as waddling because, despite the heavy coat that she wore that concealed most of her body, it was obvious that she was very pregnant. 

 

“Ah, the new kid!” she said after she looked up from a book she had been reading. 

 

Libra motioned to her. “Shannon, this is Robin – your headmistress and my wife.”

 

“Hey!” Shannon blurted out, “You ARE another Plegian!”  He noted Robin’s features including the distinctive eye-designs on her coat. 

 

“Yes,” Robin laughed lightly.  “I take it that my presence makes you feel less awkward?”

 

“Well, I know I’m not alone!” 

 

 

 

 

“I felt a chill go through me,” Libra said in the lamp-lit private room.  

 

“What? When?” Robin asked as she loosened her hair and brushed it out, preparing for sleep.

 

“When he said that his father had been killed in the war.  I know that it was the record-papers, but…”

 

“Ah.” 

 

“I suppose I’m trying not to think about those days,” the tired priest said, “even though you remain the Exalt’s chief tactician.” 

 

“Relax,” Robin soothed.  “I haven’t been called to Ylisstol since I woke up again in that field. They wouldn’t dare put me out on a battlefield or even a war-camp right now, anyway. There haven’t been any stirrings since we conquered the Conqueror and since, well… you know.” 

 

“The children are all too young to understand and there is much that we keep from the public, particularly about the Fell Dragon.  It is not that, though. I fear another call to duty every day, but it’s not that.” Libra licked his lips and caught his breath.  “You know that I continue to pray for the souls of every bandit and soldier that the Ylissean League has put down to this day.”

 

“Of course you do.  And I hope that wherever they are that they appreciate it.”

 

Libra sat down on the bed next to Robin and took the brush from her hand as an offer to help her with her hair.  She groaned and cursed her swollen ankles and tired back.   
  
“I’m sick of being pregnant,” she complained. 

 

“Lissa should be arriving tomorrow to help,” Libra said.  “I got her letter today and she wrote that she was setting out on the way.” 

 

“When did you ask her to help?” Robin wondered.  “We just have the new boy. I can handle things just fine!  I haven’t missed a step and have even figured out a carrot stew recipe that the kids will actually eat!” 

 

“It is not fair to bribe them into eating it with a promise of cherry-chocolate cake from the uptown bakery for dessert,” Libra said with a devious grin. “What I mean is…I asked for Lissa for… other purposes.  I am a medical professional but a midwife’s duties should fall to another woman – even if baby Morgan is likely to come out thinking he has two mothers.”

 

“Shannon mistook you today, didn’t he?” 

 

“Yes.  All is clarified now.” 

 

Robin gave him a smirk as she regarded Libra in his nighttime pants, stripped to his waist.  “No one would mistake you if they saw what only I get to see.  Don’t ever give up your axe-training.  That’s an order.”

 

Libra suddenly frowned. 

 

“What’s wrong, Love?”

 

“Exactly that,” he answered.  “The axe.” 

 

“The wars are over now.” 

 

“We killed a lot of people.” 

 

“The Shepherds brought peace.  You had already resigned yourself to the cost when I met you, Libra.”

 

“There are so many like that child.” 

 

“And you have the heart to care for them.  Most of our kids are the offspring of Ylissean soldiers.”

 

“I am trying to atone, I suppose,” Libra sighed.  “But I wonder if the offspring of fallen Plegians and Valmese tip the scales.” 

 

Robin carefully hugged him from behind.  She rested her chin on his shoulder and was mindful of the childhood scar that rested beneath the mop of hair he grew out to hide it.  Libra had learned to be easy with her touch long ago, which accounted for Robin’s present condition, but he remained skittish about that single old wound. 

 

“The world would have been a lot worse,” she assured.  “We know because we met time-travelers who have a brighter future now and whom we cannot thank enough.” 

 

“Having you back should be enough assurance of Naga’s blessing upon my life.  I am… truly and thoroughly blessed.” 

 

The man closed his eyes and smiled, feeling his wife’s warmth against him and her round belly against his back. 

 

 

 

Life went on in the Border Hills Home.  Shannon and Syl quickly became officially best friends.  They even wrote up a little charter together, a pledge of loyalty, which Headmistress Robin found incredibly cute. 

 

She had the baby and the infant became the subject of wonder and adoration among everyone in the home.  Even Clara approached him and could be coaxed to hold him with supervision.  The tiny boy was named for Morgan, the teenager who worked intermittently at the orphanage between study-journeys that he took.  Shannon did not know what to make of him – he was obviously a close relative of the headmasters.  He called Libra “Father” in a way that was not merely the man’s title and Robin “Mother” and they treated him like a son, but Shannon took him to be some kind of eccentric cousin.  There was no possible way a kid as old as he was could possibly be the natural son of the headmasters, nor would it be fitting for them to give two sons the same name.  The teen claimed to be a time-traveler.  Shannon assumed that he was mentally ill because that was the kind of thing that only happened in science fiction stories like the ones that Syl wrote.  The elder Morgan was nice enough, but just very strange. 

 

He aced every strategy game the older kids played when he played with them, at least when Robin wasn’t playing.  Everyone knew that it wasn’t fair when she played those, being that she had been a professional tactician.  Everyone knew that she’d had that role, although she didn’t talk about the wars much and deflected most questions she was asked by anyone with the simple statement: “That is classified.”  In the eyes of the elder children, wording like that just made her more cool – such a mysterious person.   

 

Syl showed Shannon a secret area of the orphanage one sunny afternoon.  It was difficult to sneak when one had a wooden leg and a crutch, but Syl managed somehow to be one of the most devious, slippery kids in the group.  He had a knack for “observing” he said.  Whenever he was at his desk, he wasn’t just doing his schoolwork or working on the writing he did for fun, he carefully observed the behavior of everyone around him.  He noted Libra’s prayer-times.  He noted those of the other monks and clerics that volunteered for regular periods.  He even dared to try to outfox the resident tacticians by noting when they took their tea-times or when they were busy with the needs of some of the younger children and, of course, the baby.   

 

“Behold!” Syl said as he lockpicked open a door.  He’d learned the skill from a sly friend of the headmasters – Mr. Gaius - whom all kids loved because his pockets were always full of fruit chews, caramels, chocolates and all manner of other confections which he could be guilted into sharing by Robin’s fiery glare whenever he came for a visit. 

 

“What is this place?” Shannon asked as he entered a room strewn with canvasses, lined with bookshelves and covered in jars holding brushes. 

 

“Papa Libra’s art room.” 

 

“So that’s why he smells kinda oily sometimes,” Shannon observed. The air was thick with the scent of linseed oil and the dust of various pigments.  “Why doesn’t he let any of us in here?” 

 

“He says some of the stuff in here is kind of dangerous for the younger kids.  Sally takes art lessons from him sometimes in here, but he doesn’t want any of the three and four year olds eating paint.  It’s also his quiet place, I guess.” 

 

Everyone knew that their Father Libra was an artist but was shy about showing off.  A painting of Robin hung in the library-area and there were a few landscape pieces and portraits of past kids that had been adopted-out or had grown up enough to leave on their own to be found here and there, but he did not hang many of the pictures that he did. 

 

Shannon spooked at a large canvas that was leaning across a desk.  It was colored in shades of red and bone and shattered metal – a scene of bodies spread across sand.  The boy caught his breath.  He wasn’t used to paintings of war-scenes that were… realistic. Most pieces that he’d seen reproduced in books were glorious charges with gallant commanders upon rearing horses pointing shining swords into stormlight.  The piece that had frightened him was most definitely a war-scene, but not an image of glory. 

 

“Wow… I didn’t know he was into things that were… so dark!” 

 

“Yeah, I’ve snuck in here before,” Syl said.  “Some of the ones he keeps behind the bookshelves are even worse.”

 

“I mean… its’ good…the people look all real and stuff… it’s just…”

 

“Yeah.  That’s the real reason why he doesn’t let anyone in here unless he’s cleaned the place up.  It’s his personal stuff, I guess.  He’s real nice, but… he’s kinda messed-up, too.”

 

Shannon looked up to a weapon that was hung upon a wall.  It was a large axe with a broad metal head and a red wrap around the handle. 

 

“That’s the axe he ended his days in the Valmese war with,” Syl explained.  “Supposedly, he started with the same model, but broke his first one.  It’s called a “killer axe.”  It’s because the heavy head is good for splitting helms and dealing one-hit kills.  It’s supposed to be a ‘merciful’ weapon.” 

 

“Oh, Plegian soldiers used those, too, sometimes,” Shannon said. “They’re kinda cool.  My dad was a swordsman, but I never got his sword from him.” 

 

“Robin said that Libra’s better with a Bolt Axe,” Syl continued.  “It’s a magic-weapon that can make lightning without someone needing to use a tome.  She says it works a lot like a stave except you’re hurting instead of healing.” 

 

“Have you ever seen them use their weapons?” 

 

“Sometimes, out in the yard.  They still train in case the Exalt calls them back to war or they’ve gotta protect us from something.”

 

“You two are not supposed to be in here.” 

 

A distinct voice caught between feminine and masculine murmured behind them.  The two boys screamed at once. 

 

“Aaaaaah!” Shannon yelped, nearly jumping out of his shoes.  “Father Libra! I… um… sorry? I… It was all Sylvester’s fault!” 

 

“No it wasn’t! You agreed to come with me!  And don’t use my full name! I hate it!” 

 

“Children, children,” Libra intoned.  “Easy. I am not going to harm you! You are both forgoing your dessert for tonight, but there is no need to act a-fright.  I only ask that you respect my privacy in the future. I had the door locked.” 

 

The priest paused for a moment before coming to a quick conclusion that had him growling under his breath.  “Gaius…”

 

“Um… what if one of us wanted to try painting?” Shannon suggested.  “You don’t bring out the supplies too often.”

 

“I did not know you had an interest, Shannon.” 

 

“Sure!” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, well, not really, but… you don’t share too much of what you do. I mean…” his eyes darted to the big painting that was leaning up against the desk.  “Wow…”

 

“So, you’ve ‘met’ my old order,” Libra said sadly.  “Sit down, boys.” 

 

Shannon scrambled for a chair and Syl found one for himself that he could ease into.

 

“I’m sure you see why I keep this place to myself,” Libra explained.  “It is… a sanctuary.”

 

“You’re working out memories from the wars?” Shannon asked.

 

“Yes,” Libra answered.  “War is monstrous.  If it is ever your decision to become soldiers, I assure you that I will be proud of you, but I don’t want any of my children to ever be eager to enter into battle.”

 

“Who… who were they?” Shannon cautiously asked, looking toward the painting again.

 

“The order I was a part of before I built this place… and before I became a member of Exalt Chrom’s ‘Shepherds’ division. We were just monks and clerics and we thought that we would just live in peace, praying for the land and the people.  However, we were sworn to the protection of former Exalt Emmeryn and trained to fight.” 

 

Libra paused to sigh and to put the fingers of one hand to his forehead, hunching over.  “We set out to rescue her.  It was my first taste of a true battle.  My brothers and sisters and I were ambushed along the way. By the time the front lines were in sight, I was the only one left.” 

 

“Why…why would you paint this, then?” Syl asked this time.  He’d seen some of Libra’s “secret work,” but this specific painting was new and he’d never asked about the other ones. As long as he was touching a scar, he might as well get some information out of it.  “Why wouldn’t you paint happy memories… of…your family?”

 

“Oh, I have,” Libra said, suddenly sitting up and brightening.  “But this… the last I saw them… I am driven to paint things like this.  It’s a kind of… exorcism.” 

 

“Whoa, you got demons in you?” Shannon blurted out. He’d said it as if it were the most awesome thing in the world. He slammed his lips shut once he realized his tactlessness.     

 

“In a sense, yes,” Libra answered gently.  “I am never taken over by anything that isn’t me, if that is what you are asking, but I have things inside me that I must fight, as we all do.” 

 

“You should go back to painting happy things,” Shannon said. “Like sunsets and stuff.”

 

“Noted,” Libra said with a smile.  “I do enjoy working with those.” 

 

“Can you paint me a blue donkey with Pegasus-wings and a scorpion-tail?” Syl asked. “It’s… something in one of my stories.” 

 

“It is my tradition not to take requests, but I’ll make exceptions for the both of you.” 

 

 

 

 

A day came in mid-winter when Shannon was edging on thirteen when he got to see the headmasters in battle. 

 

No one knew quite where Risen came from.  They were random monsters that had shown up one year across the lands.  They were less numerous now than in past years with only a few straggling bands remaining, but they cropped up every now and again.  They were the remains of dead soldiers, soulless, but still possessing the ability to wield weapons. No one knew if they were born from dark energies coming up through old graveyards and battlefields or if they’d come about by some other means.  Some claimed that they were creatures that had traveled through time from some fragmented future.  Others claimed that they had something to do with the brief rise and fall of Grima. 

 

Grima – that was something that no one seemed to be clear on – whether they were Ylissean or Plegian.  The Grimleal had briefly brought their god back into physical form some years ago, but it had just as quickly vanished.  The headmasters seemed to know more about this incident than they were letting on in regards to how they reacted whenever it was mentioned.  The most common story was that it was the elite group of Ylissean soldiers to which the headmasters of Border Hills had belonged that had fought the world-destroying beast and won.  The wildest rumor was that Robin, herself, had actually died for a while in this effort, but was brought back by a miracle.  She insisted that no one was to believe those rumors – that she had merely been on a long mission at the time. Shannon and Syl were both sure that, whatever the truth was, that their “Mamas” were keeping something from them, perhaps as a bid to preserve their innocence. 

 

Or maybe it was just some more of that infamous “classified information.” 

 

Shannon, for his part, was unconcerned that the god his people were supposed to worship was dead.  His family had never been devout and the revelation that said god was a world-devouring beast that had wanted him dead much more than it wanted to glorify his home nation put a damper upon any kind of devotion he might have ever had. 

 

In any case, whether by the lingering smoke of Grima’s destroyed carcass, by time-travel or by dark magic in general, Risen existed and occasionally became a problem anywhere they roamed looking to kill the living and to devour fresh meat.  

 

The children of Border Hills were having a snow-day in the yard after some fresh fall the night before, ducking behind strategically-built little snow-forts chucking slush balls at each other with raw-red cheeks in the new warm winter clothes that “Uncle Virion” had gifted them from the state of Rosanne when the smell hit. 

 

Robin immediately passed a fur-suited Baby Morgan into Shannon’s arms and yelled “Everyone, get inside! NOW!” 

 

She shouted orders.  “Top floor!  Move, move, move!” as she shepherded everyone up the stairs.  She immediately went to her study along with the elder Morgan, who was there.  Princess Lissa was also on a visit and she moved down the hallway to Libra’s art-room with him.  Sir Virion followed them.  All of the children huddled in their rooms on the upper floor, peering out of the windows upon the white landscape below as they heard the adults clatter and bang below them.  Not all of the adults – some of the general caretakers remained to make sure the children didn’t try to go below out of curiosity – but anyone who had combat-skill was on the alert. 

 

The small army of Risen shambled over the hills.  They actually moved more quickly than Shannon thought zombies would.  Some of them rode horses with limb and rib-bones peeking out.  Young Morgan hugged his leg, too small to see out the window and too tiny to understand what was going on, anyway.  Syl started hyperventilating and fell down butt-first onto a bed, grabbing at his hair. A nurse-cleric was quick to try to calm him.  

 

Libra, Robin, Virion and Lissa all ran out into the yard as the Risen came over the shallow yard-wall and wrecked the gates.  Robin held a big tome close and shouted orders.  She positioned everyone – Virion to take the rear-guard close to the main house with his bow, set to “fire when you see the red of their eyes!”  Lissa – looking less like a princess with a huge steel axe in her hands, took a mid-yard position with Morgan, who held a red-bound book.  Libra and Robin paired close beside each other and positioned themselves close to the front gates. 

 

Perhaps it was because these Risen had been shambling about for a while without much rhyme, reason or direction, but it was a slaughter.  Robin shot lightning from her fingers through the incantations from her yellow-bound tome.  The stench of ozone and burning dried flesh in the air made Ronnie and little Sally throw up somewhere behind Shannon.  He watched, mesmerized. 

 

Libra’s axe was the same one that he had seen on the wall of his private chamber when Syl had snuck them in and he was a beast with it.  Shannon learned that separating a Risen from its head or cleaving them right through the skull was the most efficient way to stop them in their tracks and to make them turn to dust.  Virion felled a horse and rider when he shot the zombie-horse through the eye. 

 

“Look!” Syl said once he’d somewhat calmed from his panic to stand beside Shannon and look out the window with him.  “Do you know what we are seeing here?  It’s the Shepherds!  The legendary Shepherds!” 

 

Shannon picked little Morgan up and held him on his hip, giving the toddler a look out the window.  His mommy and daddy were fighting out there – and fighting for them all with all off the fury of parents, all of the resolve of wolves fighting for their cubs. 

 

Shannon gasped when he watched Libra take a sword to his axe arm.  He grit his teeth as blood ran down him and seemed to concentrate upon a prayer.  Robin covered him and in just a minute, he was back swinging his axe like nothing had happened to him.  Shannon had heard tell of a “renewal” skill that some warriors had, but he’d never before seen it in action. 

 

The children shouted a chorus to rally their champions.  “Shep-herds!” they cried, “Shep-herds! Shep-herds!” 

 

Within the hour, the entire army of attacking Risen had been turned to dust scattered upon the wind. 

 

Weary and wounded despite the bit of renewal, the champions shambled indoors.  Shannon numbly passed Morgan to a nurse. 

 

This was the first time he’d seen people fighting to protect everyone that they loved and the first time he’d seen warriors fight a battle for his welfare with his own eyes. 

 

Life in the orphanage turned back to normal shortly after that incident.  A Report of Risen Activity was filed.  Princess Lissa went back to Ylisstol and Virion back to Rosanne.  Morgan went off on a trip with a friend of his named Laurent to study some ruins somewhere.  Libra and Robin went back to the everyday work of salving bruises, giving lessons, playing tag, balancing budgets, making ragdolls and reading stories. 

 

 

 

 

Shannon was fourteen on a summer evening when the box of letters came. 

 

An Ylissean soldier came to the door claiming that he had some lost mail pertaining to Shannon’s former address in Plegia.  The young man was confused by this, but accepted them, anyway, seeing that they had been addressed to his late mother.  The envelopes were yellowed and some of them looked like they’d seen a little rain. 

 

He borrowed Robin’s desk to read them.  She lit a strong lamp for him and let him go over them silently, taking a bit of fiction in another chair in the room’s corner. 

 

“They seem to be from a friend of my father’s, writing from the front.” Shannon said as he went over a few of the old papers.  “Not much here… just conditions, complaints about the food.  Ooh… I’m surprised he got away with calling Gangrel this.  I thought all the letters were censored before they went out!” 

 

“Care to share anything?” 

 

“Nope!” Shannon said.  “Consider this information classified!” 

 

Robin chuckled.  “I will, then.” 

 

Libra wandered in.  “Oh, Shannon, is that enough light for you?” he asked, worrying over him like a mother hen. 

 

“I’m fine,” Shannon said. 

 

“He is getting in touch with the past,” Robin said. “Much like I wish I could.” 

 

“I’m just hoping that Private Michial’s letters don’t mean that Mom was having an affair!” Shannon blurted.  “She never showed me any of the letters Father wrote – if he wrote any.  Come to think of it, I don’t even know if he could read or write.” 

 

Shannon scrutinized a large letter written in bold-script in the lamp-light.  His face paled and he looked to Libra, then back to the letter.  His brow screwed up for a moment.  “No…” he said, shaking his head.  “N-No… it… it can’t be…”

 

“What is the matter, child?” Libra asked. 

 

“Y..You…” Shannon said softly before bolting from the room. 

 

“Wait!” the priest called.  Robin held him back.  She tore the letter from her desk and let her eyes dart over it. 

 

They both heard the door slam on Shannon and Syl’s room. 

 

Robin was as pale as a sheet.  “Libra…” 

 

Libra’s gaze fell on the paper.  The words written there stabbed his soul. 

 

“Kyle went down easy.  Took a blow from a killer axe wielded by a tall blonde war-cleric. One of the dreaded Shepherds. One stroke. Gone.” 

 

 

 

 

“There are no guarantees in war…”

 

“Why did it have to be you?” 

 

Shannon regarded Libra with snot running down his face. 

 

“I mean,” he said, shaking, curled over on his bed, chest over knees, “I… I’d come to terms with it long ago… Father was a soldier and died in battle… and for the wrong side, but there was nothing he could do.  I mean… if it was a regular soldier, but…

 

“I never expected this either,” Libra intoned.  “To be confronted so forcefully with the lingering smoke of my sins.”

 

“I am as much as fault as anyone,” Robin told the boy.  “I was the tactician.  I directed the axe.” 

 

Shannon sobbed and gasped.  “Until now, it wasn’t personal!  You two… you’ve been so good to me… how do I reconcile that?” 

 

“The chain of revenge doesn’t end until one link decides to break,” Robin said. 

 

Shannon looked up at the two of them helplessly.  “I do not… have anywhere to go… right now.” 

 

 

 

“I am going to train him in the sword.”

 

“Robin, have you lost your mind?”

 

“He has already expressed an interest – ever since that skirmish with the Risen.”

 

“You of all people should know the tactical disadvantages of this.” 

 

Robin paced around the art room as Libra was pouring over a sketch.  He was trying to calm down from the revelation about one of their kids brought to light a few days ago. 

 

“We both know Shannon,” Robin said. “We should trust him. I know that you know where I am going with this.” 

 

“I do and I still don’t know whether you’re brilliant or insane.”  

 

“Ah, the old Shepherds’ motto about me,” Robin said, smirking.  “How I’ve missed it.” 

 

“Do you think he will really give up his anger if he swings a sword around the yard enough times?” 

 

“I think so, yes.  I told him that if he wants to avenge his father, that he needs to do so in fair combat, seeing how his father fell in a fair battle.  I honestly do not think his heart is into vengeance.  He is not a hot-headed kid.  Still, we’ll see if he’s determined to bring up the past once he feels the weight of a sword in his hands.  The way I see it, in the end, we may just wind up with another one of us who can fight off any future onset of Risen.”

 

 

 

 

“Your stance is all wrong, kiddo!” Robin barked as Shannon faced down a straw dummy with a bronze sword in hand. 

 

Syl watched from the sidelines, uncomfortable with the whole procedure.  His best friend wasn’t really going to train to fight Father Libra was he?  With everything they’d been through? 

 

Everyone knew that “fair combat rules” aside, that Libra would never even try for a fatal strike upon one of his kids, not even if his life was in danger.  It was doubtful that his axe would hit anything but air, with him not even wanting to so much as scratch one of his children, again, even if his life was in danger. 

 

Of course, Shannon knew this, too.  His swordwork was half-hearted at best.  He tried to get his mind together by imagining himself fighting off Risen. 

 

“We’ve been through this ten times already!” the boy complained.  “And that’s just today! Arrgh, forget it!”  He threw the sword down upon the hard-packed dirt.  “It’s over. I’m through.” 

 

“Oh, but I thought you really wanted to do this,” Robin chided.  “Don’t tell me that this is all of the warrior-spirit you can muster!”

 

“Eh. Like you said, it starts with a single link,” Shannon said.  “I might as well be a weak link.”

 

 

The relationship between the Plegian boy and the orphanage headmaster had grown chilly over the last several months.  Most of Shannon’s conversations with Libra had turned into non-committal grunts, but he did not have any will to hate the man. 

 

In the years since he’d come to stay here Libra had been too much of a father – and a mother – to him.  Robin as well.  What had happened in the war was in the past and nothing about it was personal.  Shannon told himself that the man who’d felled his father was just like his father – stuck in a bad position and forced to protect everything he’d loved. 

 

And, of course his mind darted back to the eerie painting of dead monks and clerics that no one other than Libra except possibly Robin had ever been meant to see. 

 

He did take up sword-training again, not as a matter of any eventual vengeance, but as a matter of exercise – and exorcise. 

 

After all, as his headmasters told him, the world was a dangerous place and they did want him to know how to protect himself once we went out into it on his own. 

 

The kids were growing up.  A few of Shannon’s early companions had found homes with small families.  Ronnie – the lucky duck (he’d snagged a lonely rich couple), Susan and Gertrude.  Of those that remained, Clara had started to speak again but still was squirrelly about anyone touching her, save for Libra who was her “safe person” and whose legs she’d always run to hug when she was scared.  Shannon had learned that he had suffered horrors similar to hers in his own childhood, which accounted for his knowing just what to say and do with her.  Kaite had gotten a job fishing off the Valmese coast.  New kids came in and the world moved on.  Syl remained in the facility, but was making money to save from having his stories published monthly in a magazine that was distributed throughout all of Ylisse. 

 

Shannon found an ad in that same magazine for workers needed in the south of Plegia for construction as part of ongoing projects to rebuild the country.  Even after all these years, some of the infrastructure suffered.  He decided to take it. 

 

 

“May Naga’s blessings flow before you and guard your back,” Libra said with a smile as he saw Shannon off at the gate. 

 

Shannon had a humble bronze sword strapped to his waist and a bag of clothing and provisions tied in a backpack-fashion around his shoulders. He’d requested that Father Libra see him off alone. No fanfare from everyone, because it would just be too sad for him.    

 

“Thank you… for everything, Papa Libra,” Shannon said slowly. “I know things between us haven’t been perfect in the last year or so…but, for what it’s worth, I grateful that you’ve done a part in raising me.”

 

Libra smiled in a sad way and tears pricked the corners of his eyes.  “Shannon, my child… know that despite our hard circumstances that I will always consider you my son.”

 

In an instant, Libra felt a punch to the gut.  He looked down at Shannon’s sword, which was struck there and at the rapid bloom of blood. 

 

“I am sorry,” Shannon said, “But… I… I.. I have to avenge my father!” 

 

Libra sunk to his knees as the boy pulled the sword out of his center. He probably never would have gotten the strike in if the priest had been wearing his battle armor rather than his everyday robes.  Even so, it hadn’t been cutting through butter, more like stabbing a tough steak with a butter-spade.  The priest gaped, his eyes  registering pure pain. 

 

Shannon shook. “I…I’m sorry.”

 

Libra reached out and brushed the young man’s shoulders with his fingers as he fell slowly to the dirt.  “I…understand…” he wheezed out. 

 

Shannon watched the priest’s rumpled form in the dust, falling sideways, his hair splayed gracefully out around him.  The boy felt a slick coolness on his hand and looked at his sword, covered in blood that ran down the hilt and down his hand. 

 

“I’m sorry…” he repeated in a whisper before taking off in a run. 

 

He darted through the gates and down a hill.  He knew that he was out of sight when he heard “FATHER!” rip itself some someone’s lungs.  The voice sounded like Morgan’s – big-Morgan, who was there for the month. 

 

Shannon caught his breath in the shade of a hillock as he heard a garble of other voices crying “Father!” “Papa!” “Mamma!” and of course Robin’s despaired cry of “LIIIIBRAAA!”

 

Shannon stayed in that small shadowed place for he didn’t know how long.  “It is finished, it is finished,” he repeated to himself.  Only when he heard dead silence and the sun was setting did he move on.  


 

 

 

Someone was touching his hair. 

 

Someone was touching his hand. 

 

He felt the ghost of a flinch-quiver go through him, but somehow, he knew that these touches were safe.  Gray played at the edges of his vision, taking away the utter dark. Had he been dreaming? 

 

There was a dull throb in his stomach mixed with the distinctive feeling of the numbing effects of a pain-draught.

 

He opened his eyes slowly.  Little Morgan was holding his hand.  He suddenly felt the fingers that were gently trying to braid the hair on his pillow-propped head suddenly drop the locks.

 

“You’re back.” 

 

His wife moved into his vision.  Tears immediately welled up in her eyes and streaked down her face. “You’re back.” 

 

“Was I gone?” Libra asked.  His lips were dry and his throat felt raw.  Robin immediately put a small ceramic cup of water to his lips. 

 

He registered that he was in his and Robin’s bedroom. 

 

“Easy,” she said.  “Yeah… you were gone… for a while.  Asleep. Just asleep.” 

 

“Papa’s ‘wake!” Morgan chimed. The little boy tried to climb up on the bed but was held back by Robin. 

 

“No, dear,” she told the child. “Papa’s still not feeling well. You’ll hurt him. Just stay in your seat, okay?”   

 

“Robin,” Libra rasped, “I had a dream that Shannon stabbed me.” 

 

“It was no dream,” she answered him sorrowfully. 

 

“Where is he?”

 

“We don’t know. He ran off.  None of us chased him down.  We had you to attend to.” 

 

“G-good,” Libra choked out. 

 

“Wha?”

 

“Good.  Let him go.”

 

Robin paused for a moment, stroking his hair and his cheek. 

 

“What’s this?” Libra asked, noting the small stuffed animal that had been nestled into the crook of his arm.  “Clara’s Pegasus?”  
  
“She was hoping it would help you get better,” Robin said with a smile.  “We nearly lost you.  Morgan – big Morgan… was quick with a Mend-stave to keep you from bleeding-out.  Your innards are still pretty messed-up.  You’re going to have to take it easy for a while and eat bland food.”

 

“I thought I was the medic.”

 

“Doctors make for poor patients.  Lissa is here to make sure you follow orders.” 

 

“The children…”

 

“Are with Lissa and probably bothering their Uncle Gaius and Uncle Chrom…”

 

“Chrom’s here?” 

 

“Yes. He’s been worried about you, as we all have. He also wished to investigate the incident.”

 

“No charges.”

 

“What, Love?”

 

“Shannon… let him go.”

 

“He tried to murder you.”

 

“He’s still our boy,” Libra insisted, though his voice was quiet and weak. “It is better if he believes that I am dead.  He was avenging his father.”

 

“As I guessed.”

 

“Papa, you okay?”

 

“Yes, Morgan.”  Robin rubbed the small boy’s back. 

 

“He wasn’t happy,” Libra added.  “He apologized to me.  His eyes were agony.” 

 

“You almost left us.” 

 

“I guess… Naga still wants me around.  I have more work to do.”

 

“Well, of course!” Robin said, giving him a playful peck on the cheek.  “You have too many people to take care of.  You belong with us.  Just look at this!  The girls made you this flower crown here on the desk… I was going to put it on you after I braided your hair!  And Clara parted with her Pegasus…” 

 

“We both know that Shannon isn’t a danger to anyone…but me”  Libra cautiously picked the sheet off his body and looked down at his bandaged midsection.  “I don’t even think he really wanted to be a danger to me, deep down…”

 

“It was a poor strike,” Robin said with a frown. 

 

“Let him believe me gone.  Let his father be avenged.  The chain of retribution needs to break somewhere.” 

 

“Libra...” 

 

“I wish our boy a good life.” 

 

 

 

**END.**

**Shadsie - 2016**

_I’ve had the base idea for this for a while, but I flew through writing it in about two days. Go me?  Fun fact – I have an uncle with a false leg. I haven’t seen him in a long time, but I remember him getting around fairly normally, if slowly._

 


End file.
